


Dance of Destinies

by bryar6



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Archie is an ESA, Dance/Ballet AU, F/M, Fluff, Gen, POV Alternating, jlaire, moderate canon divergence, other times i just wanted a zouxie au and it got out of hand, sometimes this is a metaphor for how much i hate capitalism, tags updating as I go, this is not an everyone lives AU, zouxie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 10:14:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29027031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bryar6/pseuds/bryar6
Summary: For years, Douxie's life at Camelot Dance Institute has been relatively routine. Learn something new, practice, master it, and perform. This peaceful life is at stake when Arcane Industries targets and purchases a local studio and has eyes for CDI next. Zoe, a member of The Coven, a contemporary dance troupe, seeks help from Arthur and his institute until they're able to get back on their feet, bearing a warning message that Arcane Industries will not rest until they have what they want.Claire has dreams of the theatrical stage, but music has been her life as long as she can remember. Jim, a local barista, has realistic goals of owning a restaurant of his own one day and possibly getting to know a shy frequenter of the cafe, but is unknowingly tied up in the local warring gangs through his extended family, threatening to pull everything else down around them.As the truths are exposed and alliances altered, lines blur and paths entangle in ways none of them could have imagined.
Relationships: Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan & Zoe, Hisirdoux "Douxie" Casperan/Zoe, Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez, Morgana | Pale Lady & Claire Nuñez, Toby Domzalski & Jim Lake Jr.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 13





	Dance of Destinies

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge special thank you to everyone who's shown interest and worked to collaborate on the plot and characters with me. Could not have even thought about tackling something so big without y'all, so thank you to NikiBogwater who is the reason this ended up in my head, and MusicalSkater for all the incredible help with characterizing and developing the side characters/Trollhunters protags. And of course to everyone else who's listened to me ramble like crazy about this and continues to follow along with this madness. If you're interested, check out my notes on one of my sideblogs for more and see the corresponding AU tag for more info(find it [ here](https://zoe-b-raiden.tumblr.com/post/641142570111631361/alright-fuckers-you-guys-showed-interest-and)).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paths cross in the most unexpected of ways, the strings of fate weaving invisibly between every action and day with consequences in them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty folks, AU craziness time and this time I am going all out, so uh. Prepare for one hell of a journey, when I'm able to put this beast into a workable plot, lol. Enjoy and let me know what you thought!

“Nari, where are you?” 

“I am _right here_ , Bellroc,” she hisses through clenched teeth. It’s with an awful amount of energy that she forces her legs over the side of the couch and stands, tugging on her loose sweater. She slides into her slippers and emerges from the comfortable patch of sun she had been lounging in. 

“Just because you are a teenager, does not give you the right to have an attitude with us,” Skrael retorts, using that ever scholarly look on her. Bellroc simply beckons her with a hand, up to the table in the middle of the room. 

“I know you do not wish to have a hand in this, but as the third inheritor, we must have your agreement in all decisions made. You understand. Could you just sign there?” Bellroc hands Nari their favorite pen, a privilege indeed. She takes it, eyes scanning over the paper but not actually reading any words. This is the routine. Pretend to read it. Sign it. Go back to forgetting whatever the other two are up to and hole up in the rooftop garden. 

“Mhm.” She scribbles her name, pointedly ignoring the voice in the back of her head that says she’s still a minor and shouldn’t really be able to sign legal documents and have it count for anything, but apparently there’s a clause for inheritance and yada yada yada. 

“Thank you.” The way Bellroc says it isn’t cold, it’s just, forever indifferent. Skrael has already moved on, shifting blueprints around on his desk and tugging at his silver chain looped around his neck. Bellroc is gone in a flash of their red sweater and Nari is, once again, left to her own devices. 

She grabs a book and heads for the balcony. Two in the afternoon means time to water the plants. And the day moves on, each one passing on and on like the blandest routine, always within reach of her siblings, always resigned to this quiet, dull life. 

At the very least, the outside air is fresh and sweet today. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And again.” 

Douxie collects himself, steadying his feet and moving into and through the proper positions. It’s just a warmup so there’s no need for utmost precision, but he does so anyways, anything to look good in the eyes of his rather small audience. Merlin is no longer watching, instead chatting away with Morgana, who holds a number of music sheets in her hands and speaks in a hushed, excited tone. Behind them, Arthur sits, distractedly chewing-- probably tobacco, nasty habit --and clearly not paying attention. Douxie stretches, pulling a leg near-vertical, holding for a moment before releasing. Easy days aren’t so bad, he supposes. 

Archie trots onto the stage, coming up to wrap around Douxie’s legs, purring softly. He reaches down and gives the cat a slight scratch behind the ears, sighing and temporarily giving up on impressing anyone. 

“He’s not listening or watching, is he? You know, if I walked off right now he wouldn’t even notice,” he mutters. Archie mrrows in agreement, headbutting his bent knee. “No, no, I won’t go yet. Practice still has another half hour.” 

Douxie rises lightly again, finding his balance with ease and lifting into the balls of his feet, feeling the pull in his calves with the stretch as he waits for Merlin to remember that his student is even here but he’s clearly absorbed in whatever interesting information Morgana is offering. 

“Boy, don’t you have _anything_ you could be doing?” Arthur gestures with a hand at the stage from his seat, empty of anything besides Douxie and his cat. He straightens, pulling his shoulders back. 

“Sorry, sir, waiting for further instruction.” Douxie dips his head almost in a bowing fashion, ever respectful. It’s the least he can do, owing Merlin and them his entire well-being. It’s nice having a space in this massive dance institute, because he can’t say the same for all the students, even though the empty suites and space abounds. 

Arthur grunts, head turning away dismissively. Douxie lets it slide, focusing on his breathing. He closes his eyes and moves into a couple light steps to the side, twirling on a foot, preparing for the leap--

The theater door slams open, trembling against its ancient hinges. Douxie flinches hard and stumbles, catching himself against the barre, losing his calm immediately. He holds a hand up against the bright stage lighting to see whatever intruder had just burst in, desperately praying it’s not some critic like last week here to interview them all. 

“Who is it?” Merlin calls out, not looking up from the music he’s leafing through. Douxie still can’t make out the shadowy figures coming down the aisle. 

“The Coven.” 

The voice is even, cool, and nonchalant. Voice alone, he can’t really place any names to the group, but guesses that the one walking down to them means business. When she finally makes it into the far, dim reaches of the light, Douxie’s eyebrows jump to his hairline. She’s completely decked out in black, from a studded leather jacket, a pair of ripped jeans, to tall combat boots and heavy makeup. 

Everything that Merlin would _kill_ Douxie for, that is, if Merlin was aware he is in possession of many similar articles. He gulps, tearing his eyes away. He can’t be caught looking envious, of all things, it’s _“Unbecoming.”_

Merlin’s head pivots smoothly, eyes landing on her and the other members of her troupe, likewise dressed. His teacher’s disgust shows itself immediately in the roll of his eyes and the curl of his lip and Douxie frowns, fearing the worst. 

“Good day,” Morgana says simply, setting aside her notes and acknowledging their uninvited guests. Merlin sneers harder, if possible, and Douxie immediately wants to apologize, even if it’s not his own poor behavior. Assumptions might get the best of Merlin at times, but under the judgement is someone who does actually _care_ it’s just...hard to find.

Arthur stands and turns as well, pursing his lips with annoyance dashing across his face. “I presume you’ve scheduled a meeting and blocked it with my--”

The pink-haired woman who Douxie guesses must be the dance-troupe’s lead, laughs. Laughs at _Arthur Pendragon_ of all possible people. Either she’s completely moronic, or a force to be reckoned with. Whichever one it is, she’s got the full attention of the company management, and himself. Even Archie seems unusually intrigued, moving to the edge of the stage and tipping his head inquisitively. 

“No. I haven’t. Don’t see the point in wasting time like that.” She lifts a hand, eyes flicking over her nails for a moment before looking up and meeting Arthur’s eyes. “Came here to bring a message and ask a question.” 

“Then speak,” the tall man growls, clearly losing his patience. The woman looks and acts like she has all the time in the world, wearing a poker face like even Morgana couldn’t pull. It’s impressive, Douxie will give her that. 

“Arcane Industries bought out our studio. We need a place to go. We’re willing to pay for it. You have empty rooms, two plus two equals four. And they’re coming for you next.” She blinks expectantly, awaiting his response. Arthur freezes, nose flaring like an angered bull staring down a puny matador. If she’s the matador, Douxie would have to say she knows what she’s doing. 

But once he really listens to what she’s said, the broken news, the words feel a bit like the hurt earned from a missed step, a hard fall, knocking the breath from him completely. 

He can’t lose this. He’s lost so much else. He’d come from nothing, rescued by the conductor. All Merlin had asked was that he do some sort of work around the place to keep up, but before he knew it, the conductor had thrust a violin into his arms and supplied him with rosin and private lessons and soon enough he was in the pit with the rest of the orchestra, or so it felt like. Years have passed but it’s always felt like time slips by so much faster here. That isn’t all his history, of course, but it’s as far as he dwells, now watching Morgana cross to her brother and doing his best not to cringe away. 

“We’ve known this was coming, Arthur,” she hisses, eyes narrowing. Douxie had been completely unaware and still isn’t entirely sure why this is an issue. _We’ve got more than enough funds to keep the place afloat, right?_

“You’re to stay out of the financials and stick to music,” he retorts, hand lifting to point at her incriminatingly. This isn’t an unheard of topic between the two, sticking each other’s noses into business they claim has nothing to do with the other. Douxie scoops Archie into his arms and holds him close, preparing for the coming storm. Morgana scoffs, opening her mouth, but is swiftly cut off. 

“Look, you mind having these conversations elsewhere?” The woman is tapping her foot impatiently now, pink bangs falling over her face and adding a bit of an edge to her already sharp look. 

“If you’ve come looking for hospice, the answer is no,” Merlin growls. Douxie sighs. Last thing he needs is to break up all of them from the sure verbal battle that’s to come. And it’s a harsh statement even from his teacher. 

Morgana shakes her head. “We have plenty of empty rooms and studios to go around. If they pay rent, what’s the harm done?” 

“They’ll ruin our reputation!” the conductor argues, gesturing to the group of dancers, all looking quite unimpressed by now. There’s maybe a half dozen of them here, but Douxie has the feeling there’s more than just them. Troupes are usually large, smaller than something like the institute of course, but still of considerable size. “Contemporary has no place in our institute, be it dance, music, or style. I will not let it sully sacred ground for the arts, not after centuries.” 

“Modern times call for change, if I may,” Morgana retorts, lifting her sheet music. “And you do understand, a show the likes of which you wish to perform will require more talent than we have.” 

“Enough, Morgana,” Arthur warns. “This is all too hasty and quick. I need time for decisions. If this is The Coven, you would be..?” 

“Zoe Raiden.” She extends a hand to shake with the owner, giving nothing more than a curt nod to go with it. 

Douxie smiles to himself. _Strangely fitting name. If that even makes any sense._ She’s clearly a dancer in the way she moves, but she doesn’t carry herself the way a ballerina would, instead with purposeful, strong steps that lack the airy movements he knows he displays. Modern dance, then. For a few moments he tries to envision himself doing anything besides the classics and it simply will not click in his head. Must be Merlin’s drilling and the hundreds, thousands of hours spent pouring over each step and getting it to a science. 

“Well, Miss Raiden, I will consider this offer and review a few things before we come to any decisions. I want what’s best for my program...and I’d prefer that we remain independent. But unfortunately I do not have final say in everything and I’ve come to an impasse with Arcane Industries in the past. For now, please take your leave as I do have a schedule, and next time do not show uninvited,” Arthur orders, setting his shoulders and removing himself from the room in the same breath. 

Zoe looks amazingly unbothered, eyes flicking between the two musicians with vague interest. It appears she’s seeking further discussion before departing and that, at the very least, he can’t blame her for. The authority around here is ever confusing him as it is. 

“Hisirdoux, see them to the exit.” Merlin snaps his fingers and spins on a heel, stalking off. Morgana is close behind and Arthur has long since abandoned the room. Douxie realizes what’s happening with an offended scoff and an outstretched arm as if to stop either of them. 

“But maestro--” 

“Ah! Don’t ‘but maestro’ me, boy. Go on now, your practice is over for today.” And just like that, the conductor is gone without a second look back, leaving Douxie standing awkwardly on the stage, facing the troupe. He hops down and gives a slight bow, clearing his throat. 

“As you may have heard, Hisirdoux Casperan, at your service.” 

“We don’t need an escort,” Zoe bites back, already turning and leading the way back to the theater doors. Douxie isn’t put off by the disregard, he’s a bit more accustomed to it than he wishes to admit to himself, trotting after them with Archie at his feet. 

“Well, I supposed you didn’t, but it’s best I listen to Merlin anyways. Accompaniment, then?” Douxie reaches her side and matches his stride to hers. Her look from the corner of her eyes is not upset, but it’s edging on more than just annoyed. 

“Don’t make yourself a pain.” 

Still, he’s not deterred. Something tells him that she’s putting on a show of being so cold and distant. Which would imply she really does just want to be left alone, but the chance of getting important information might be enough to sway Arthur and Merlin, even if it’s small. If he and Morgana can get them to change their minds, at least help this troupe in their time of need. It would be worth it. 

“I’ll do my best not to, m’lady.” 

It’s a moment before he registers her hand clamped around his wrist like a vice, tightening uncomfortably. She stares him down now, leaning close. Archie presses between their feet with a low hiss. Zoe notices the cat and his vest and drops Douxie’s arm, looking almost apologetic but still serious. 

“We are not friends. I’m here out of circumstance, not to play buddy-buddy with the prodigee of Merlin. Remember that when our paths cross next.” 

“I’m on your side here,” he deflects, backing up just a bit. Zoe’s shoulders fall a small bit, face still stony, but clearly there’s some understanding in her eyes. 

“Whatever. C’mon, guys,” she says, waving her troupe on with her without another glance backwards. “I’ll see you next week, Hisirdoux.” 

“Just Douxie is fine!” he calls back and Zoe throws a peace sign up before they disappear around the corner. Archie purrs and presses his cold nose to Douxie’s cheek. “Yes, yes I know. Making a mess of things already, aren’t I.” 

His cat just purrs a little louder before making the demanding meow that signifies he wishes to be fed. 

“I know, I know. Your tuna awaits.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wonderfully done,” Morgana praises, leaning over her podium and offering a smile and a kind nod. “You really are on track to become one of the best musicians Merlin or I have put through this school.” 

Claire glances away shly, tucking loose hair behind her ear. “Well, thank you, I’m learning from the best, you know.” 

Morgana laughs, rising and moving to stand beside the whiteboard where a list is pinned to the wall. It’s the day’s schedule, and though neither Morgana or Merlin have much for students in the arts that they teach privately, their itineraries never fail to be packed. 

“Ah, seems Arthur has called the meeting regarding the other dance studio. I thought he’d be smart enough to sit on it and let himself work things out mentally...but that’s not really Arthur, now is it?” She asks this rhetorically of course, but from what Claire understands of her tone, there’s an underlying frustration regarding it all. “Lessons are cut short today, unfortunately.” 

“I’m sorry,” Claire supplies, kind of at a loss otherwise. Morgana waves her off amicably. 

“Don’t be. If anything I fear Arthur wishes to completely deny that troupe any hopes of renting a space from us. He’s just being greedy and Merlin is an obstinate old man stuck in his ways. Change is coming whether either of them like it.” 

“You said that Arcane Industries wants to buy us out, too?” 

Morgana nods, solemnly this time. “They do. And unfortunately the golden ages of arts are not these days and the demand for our talents unfortunately grows far smaller. Unless we can find something to bring this place onto its feet again I fear we may well be headed the same way. Not everyone has such a deep appreciation for music and dance as we do.” 

Claire makes a sound of agreement but says nothing, mostly because to really agree with her would be a lie. Her own passions don’t lie within the realm of music or dance. Her eyes track to the advertisement poster tacked to the wall, all the number strips torn off it already, one of which is securely tucked into Claire’s wallet. 

“Don’t worry about me, I have some studying to do anyways and new music to learn,” Claire assures, standing and gathering her folders and her violin. “And the cafe down the street has been calling my name, forgot the espresso this morning.” 

“Hm, well I’m not worried at all. And if you see Douxie, please ask him to come visit me tomorrow? I can find him later, but if you’re headed that way.” Morgana’s face suggests there’s a number of things to bring up in discussion with him, so she accepts. 

“Of course. Have a good afternoon,” she calls, ducking out of the room and heading for her room. It’s not unusual that Morgana and Douxie have their own conversations about who knows what; the two are like a pair of siblings in some regards, to the point of suspected gossip about Merlin and Arthur. Then again, who in the institute isn’t like some form of family to Douxie? Claire feels a bit like a younger sister to him, Merlin of course being a questionable father-figure, and Mordred a thorn in their sides like only a brother could be. 

It’s commonly joked that Douxie wasn’t picked up off the streets so much as one day suddenly appeared inside the building and made himself at home. He acts like he and the odd little cat he arrived with were always meant to be here and he seems so happy for it to be this way, or appears to, anyways. He’s had his ups and downs over the years but mostly seems to have kept these things quiet even to those close to him. 

Claire, on the other hand, doesn’t really feel like she belongs here the same way. She’s made to feel at home with all proper necessities, and even with her own suite to herself, it’s just not the same. Her mother stuck her in lessons at an impossibly young age, probably hoping to create the next Mozart, and instead getting a daughter who tries far too hard for her own good and is terrified of failure with a nearly crippling anxiety over getting everything right. She’s dabbled in nearly every instrument she’s set her eyes on and has been at least somewhat decent with all of them, which...doesn’t contribute to her biggest predicament. 

She’s in and out of her room like a furious wind, changing into something a little nicer and warmer for the outdoors, with a mind to get probably too much coffee and have some small words with the kind barista and his friend. When she arrives, the warmth of the cafe wonderful on her chilled face, Toby is leaning against the counter, elbow slowly pushing the tip jar dangerously close to the edge. 

Claire snatches it up seconds before it can fall and resettles it out of harm’s way. “Is Jim here today?” 

This catches Toby’s attention and she immediately regrets even asking when she sees the flash of amusement in his eyes. She makes sure to display a slight annoyance in a glare directed at him. 

“Why, yes, yes he is, thanks for asking.” He winks and she sighs, eyes flicking to the kitchen doors. 

“You are a real--” 

“Jimbo!” Toby exclaims, conveniently cutting her off and changing the topic at once, his friend shouldering through the door with a plate of drinks in hand. Jim’s eyes narrow at his shorter friend, but when they land on Claire he lights up in surprise. 

“Oh, hey, Claire. What brings you here? I mean. Coffee, probably, that was kind of a stupid question.” Jim holds his index up to ask for a moment and floats around the little dining area, depositing drinks at tables. He returns quickly, restacks the tray, and adjusts his apron with a nervous laugh, pulling out a cup and jotting her name on it’s side dutifully. “Usual?” 

“Yeah, usual is fine. How’s the day been?” she asks, eyeing the somewhat disappointing tip jar. Toby groans. 

“Awful, it’s so slow and that weird Bular guy showed--” Jim shoots him a look and Toby stumbles to a stop, waving his hands in the air. “Nevermind. It’s work. I’d better go clean some dishes or something.” 

Toby is gone quickly, leaving Claire and Jim standing in somewhat awkward silence. 

“Soooo, didn’t you uh-- you auditioned for that play, right?” Jim glances up from where he’s carefully wrapping her scone, looking as unsure of himself and as genuinely interested as ever. 

And there it is. The ever-dreaded topic. 

“Yeah, I did. Haven’t...heard back yet, but hopefully soon.” She disguises her uncertainty by shoving her hands into her pockets, gaze travelling to last month’s orchestra flyer still pinned on the corkboard of the wall. The play flyers have been taken down here and she’s thankful the reminder is missing. 

“You’ll have to let me know when you get the part,” he laughs, but something tells her he really believes she will be getting it. _I wish I had that kind of confidence._

“Yeah, you guys will be the first to know,” she says quietly, hoping her small grin is enough. Jim hands her the coffee and scone, tipping his head to indicate the customer behind her. She lets out a small ‘oh’ and apologizes, quickly making for the door with a single backwards wave and look. Things to do, afterall, including a rather thick script she wanted to get through again, just in case. 

Sometimes it’s best to just keep moving.


End file.
